


Aftermath

by Jakeelope



Series: Cast and Kettle [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (but someone did :3c ), A kettle of hawkes if you will, AU - Anders didn't merge with Justice, AU- Anders didn't blow up the Chantry, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Avoidant Personality Disorder, Blue Hawke (Dragon Age), Depression, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Friends as Family, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mental Illness, Minor Character Death, More Hawke Siblings, Multi, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Polyamory, Post-Game, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivors Guilt, Trans Anders (Dragon Age), Trans Character, Warden Carver Hawke, domestic abuse mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-10-27 18:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakeelope/pseuds/Jakeelope
Summary: "How much have you had to drink?" Fenris asks."Uhm..." He reaches for the bottle, and it's taken up before he can reach. He follows it to Varric's examination of it, and the way his eyes tighten. When had he come in? Laiit wants to hide from him too."This was near full, Red. Were you trying to drown yourself in it?"Hawke can't cope with the aftermath of the Chantry's explosion. Fortunately, his friends are there to pick up the pieces.(AU - mind the tags)





	1. Wandering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Here I am, my first fanfic in like, a decade, and first post on AO3! Feat. Laiit, my Hawke from DA2. Because I got to Act III a few years ago, and promptly threw it all out the window.  
I plan on posting more of his story and my own rejection of canon, but I'm going to leave the infodump for the end notes. Enjoy!

He stood, alone. Singular, but completely swarmed by people on all sides. 

The worst of the horrors were over. Bodies and bloodstains covered the stones of the Gallows, worst of all being the bulbous mass that had once been a friend. The disfigured necromantic abomination laid, limbs at unnatural angles and maw gaping up at the sky. 

And he stood among the masses who flowed past him like a frantic, crashing river. It was over, didn’t they know? Everything, over. Merideth, looks out from her crystalline prison. Staring, forever staring, forever gripping that damned sword… The world in red. Red lyrium, red of blood magic, and the gore across the ground.

He staggers back, letting himself be jostled and pressed back against the brick of the city buildings. He was left in a haze, his mind full and empty like he'd never known before. His hands were as red as his hair, as red as his armor, as red as... 

Slowly he drifts back into an alley between houses. His arms move through the heavy air and sheathe his greatsword, filthy with gore sticking to the leather-wrapped hilt. Silently, almost pensively (had he the mind to be pensive) he looked down at his nails. They were filthy. The Chantry had exploded and his lover was gone, and he had bits of Templar under his nails, sunken into the lines of his hands. He could feel it, some dried, some fresh, stuck to his face. He was no stranger to this... That is why, he tells himself, he is so calm. Because he is calm. He isn't sure he's ever felt so calm- not panicked by the crowds, not worrying where his love, Sterling, was and if he was safe. For once he is content to drift through the world without thinking. (There is a wall between himself in this moment and any thought deeper than observation. It should worry him. It does not.) He steps back into the streets and moves with the crowd- away from the chaos, away from the Gallows. 

He has never felt so unnoticed. It's blissful to fade into the background like this. No one looks up at him and his towering height and his disfigured face. No one falls to their knees, desperate for the help of Kirkwall's Champion. They stare at where the Chantry once filled the tip of the cityscape, or bar their doors and windows, or are running from the violence in the Gallows. He wonders how many people running are mages, newly freed. Another time, he would have wanted to stop and help. They must be afraid, and in need...

He wanders. He goes south, into Lowtown. He remembers living there, his small family shacked up in a three room apartment. Three room, not bedroom. Carver had hated sharing a living space, always did... 

The streets are dirty here, but it is dirt. Browns and grays, that’s all. The red of his hands is also turning dark, now. Absently he makes a fist and watches some of the dried blood crack, and fall. Away, away...

It tumbles like dust and mingles with the filth of the Lowtown streets. For the first time in some hour or more, he wonders where he is. His throat catches as he looks up- but when he blinks he can tell that the silhouette is only wood. The Hanged Man swings above them all from one leg, blinded by the sash around his eyes. 

_ ...what am I doing here? _

Laiit stares up at the familiar sign. A second home of his, really. It sways slowly, almost tauntingly, now. He'd walked all the way here? He hadn't meant... Laiit supposes he hadn't meant to do anything at all. His eyes trail down to the door, standing open. Empty. He'd never seen the Hanged Man empty before. Not ever. Even Corff was gone. He supposed everyone had left when they heard the explosion. He pushes one foot in front of the other, and without warning he is slammed with ache in every inch of himself. And he feels hollow in a way he hasn’t felt in years. And it’s so encompassing, so hopeless and dark... 

Immediately he wishes he could return to the numbness that had carried him here. It hadn't hurt then, not like this, _ not like this. _

His hand stains the wood as he pushes it open, but this tavern was already so “decorated” that he doubts anyone will notice. If anyone comes back. If it's ever open again. If the entire Maker-accursed city doesn't tumble down and run screaming away from the wreckage. Because it feels like the world is ending, and he doesn't know what will be left, come morning. 

He's a mead kind of man, but he pushes past the bar and grabs the heavy-glassed bottle of whiskey, because he knows this is the one Isabella used to drink that left him coughing every time. His brow furrows. Isabella was one of the first to go. She'd left with that bloody tome, and he hadn't heard word from her since. It had hurt, but he'd eventually gotten over it. He had considered her a friend, and he'd learned to play things a little closer to his chest, next time. 

_ (Varric had not thought much of this resolution. "Play things much closer than they are, Redwood, and Broody will be the only one who can pry it out of you." Laiit had smiled a little, and nodded in acquiescence. Yes, he was plenty guarded, but hadn't it been well-founded in the end? But there would always be room for Varric at his side, and the man knew it. Or Laiit hoped he did by now.) _

He clutches the neck of the bottle like a lifeline, and stares up at the stairway. So near, so far. But he heaves his heavy body up anyways, the image of the soft couch and familiar sight of his friend's suite driving him forward. He fumbles for his keyring with shaking hands, and clumsily opens Varric's door.

He breathes in deeply, and it is a punch to the chest. The smell of dead fires and books feels more like home than his empty estate ever does. The red tapestry by the bed, the couch and oversized cushions in front of the fire with place for everyone washes over him. His home was where his friends were, really. Maybe that’s why his had never felt right until they’d filled it for him. Isabella’s dirty writing on the banister, finding Anders’ papers everywhere, Merrill buying little decorations and bringing over flowers. Aveline’s and Laiit’s book exchange stayed by the door, to pick up and return when she came by on Thursday’s. Teas in the kitchen for Fenris’ habit, and cards that lived on the dining room table for the lot of them. Suddenly this room feels empty. And he is alone. Again.

His resolve crumbles with the rest of him, sliding down the door to the ground. His armor bites and he clutches the bottle closer to his chest. Some part of him shudders, knowing in his heart that his home will always be different, now. Everything will be different. Knowing that this may be the last time he sees this place hurts worse than any of the battle-blows so far.

This is all his fault. No one would want to even look at him, not now. Not once they realize that it was his fault. He helped Sterling and Justice, he had caused this bloodshed. Varric loved this sorry city, and Laiit had torn it to shreds in one afternoon. He’d gone against everything he’d ever told them they were working for. Helping Kirkwall? What a joke.

And how could Fenris stand to look at him? He'd coerced him into fighting, he had to have. The man had come so far in his understanding, realizing that the Free Marches wasn't Tevinter, and maybe his hatred wasn't so well earned here. Laiit had thought he was doing a good thing in convincing him. 

_ Yeah, by blowing up the fucking Chantry _\- how would he ever explain that it wasn't what he wanted? Sterling hadn't told him what they were doing, but Laiit hadn't asked. He'd been blind and naive, and it had lead to bloodshed and ruin. He was another dangerous mage, out to fuck the world over.

Tears ran over the crusting blood and into the rivulets of old scars, and Laiit tried to calm his trembling enough to drink. He coughed his way through the burn, well intent on drinking until he couldn't remember his own name.

* * *

_ "...Hawke!" _

Blearily, Laiit looked to his left. He'd been staring at the colors of the tapestry on the wall, all bright colors and sharp lines. He knows the shape means something, but he can't remember... His eyes drift back, until he hears again-

_ "Hawke!" _

Hawke- that was him, wasn't it? It was sometimes him. Someone called someone else Hawke earlier, and it made him happy. He remembers that. 

The floor he'd fallen against wasn't very comfortable. He could see pillows up on the bed, but he didn't want to move to get them. That was too far away. Too hard. It was hard enough to move over here instead of by the door, and then he'd even taken off his armor, and that was so much work. He would stay laying here, even if the floor hurt. Maybe he could have pillows later. 

The voice was different this time, a little louder. _ "Hawke? Are you there?" _ He hears a light voice, soft and kind. He knows that voice. It sounds worried, he should answer it. 

He isn't sure what he says, but it isn't the “hello” he was hoping for. Now that he's looking away from the tapestry, everything feels a little blurry. That hurt his head- not as much as his stomach hurt, though. He groans softly, rolling onto his side, gasping at the spark of pain.

"Hawke?" A deep voice calls, so close by. But still muffled. The door cracks- oh, he thinks he was supposed to lock that- and he hears a familiar step. _ Feather-quiet. _ He thinks. _ Is that a thing? _

"Hawke." Laiit feels like a child who has just lost at hide-and-seek, and a sourceless sorrow strikes a sob in him. In a half-second he remembers it all, and his floating awareness is jerked back to earth. Tears start up without hesitation and he turns back onto his back. He looks straight up at Fenris, who stands taller for the first time ever. The elf looks pained, and Laiit sees him wince as his eyes dart across pieces of this scene. Laiit tries to speak to him, but his tongue won’t cooperate with him.

“He’s here! Upstairs.” Fenris calls over his shoulder, and kneels beside him. He can’t look. He turns his head to avoid the intensity of Fenris’ gaze. Slender hands pull the bottle from his own, and bob slightly, testing the weight. Empty. It clunks hollowly against the floorboards. He's feeling it all again, and the weight of his mistakes are crushing him. His friends will want answers, and he will have nothing to give them. He can't stand to see them hate him. Can’t see them leave him too. And Carver- Carver had always hated that his family was mages anyhow, Carver would hate him even more than all the rest. And he _ deserved it _.

"Hawke..." Fenris' voice is low and quiet, and Laiit bites back the jerk of his chest. He’s out of breath, had he been talking? _ Don’t look at me, _ he wants to beg. _ Please, just go. _ He wishes he had died, or would drop dead now, and not face this. "Laiit, look at me." A hand grasps him by the jaw, careful but firm, guiding his face upward again. His eyes crack open and he can hardly see through the mess of tears. Fenris holds his vision silently. Hawke searches for the hate he knows he will find. But Fenris has always been good at holding back what he doesn't wish you to see, he thinks; because Laiit only sees the firmness, and the pained look in the creases of his eyes. But that made sense, Laiit had betrayed his trust terribly, of course he was hurt-

"How much have you had to drink?" Is all he asks.

"Uhm..." He reaches for the bottle, and it's taken up before he can reach. He follows it to Varric's examination of it, and the way his eyes tighten. When had he come in? Laiit wants to hide from him too.

"This was near full, Red. Were you trying to drown yourself in it?" 

"That might not have been too far off." Fenris looks over Laiit's face carefully. He doesn’t want to see the hurt anymore, and he tries to keep his eyes on Varric. But his eyelids are so heavy, they keep fluttering against his wishes. He’s so tired, and in so much pain… If he can't die, he wants to sleep. Sleep and sleep, and if he sleeps enough it will be like being dead anyway. Fenris releases him, fingers brushing soft against his scarred jawline, and he lets his head loll against the floor again.

* * *

"He's not... looking so great." Varric looks back to the bottle. He couldn't keep track of every bit of liquor that went in and out of here, not closer than inventory asked, but with the pricier stuff he could give a better ballpark. And this was one such bottle. "What was he thinking?" It slips out of him before he can stop it, and from the way Broody looks at him, they both know damn well what he was thinking. 

"Help me sit him up." 

No small feat (no pun intended, of course). Laiit was over seven feet tall, and was incredibly dense. Physically, at least. Sometimes emotionally on top of it, as seemed the case here. Varric helped pull his friend into sitting, despite the distressed noises from the manhandled. 

"He's here?" Daisy finally made it upstairs, with Junior in tow. This room was about to get crowded... "Is he alright? I was so worried when he ran off like that, is he hurt? I tried to keep up a shield…” She trails off, leaning to the side. Neither of them could see past the half-wall dividing his living space, just Varric crouched low. “Varric…?”

"He's just fine." Varric tells her, because he can't break Daisy's heart, and because it has to be fine. Red would have to find a way to be fine, because he didn't know how much more he could take today before going on his own bender. With a deep sigh he stands and offloads Bianca to her place against the bedside table. He shrugs off his jacket, tosses his gloves on top, and looks up to the newcomers. Daisy's hand is over her heart with worry, of course, and Junior looks... Complicated. And that was someone else's problem. 

"Junior, help get him up here." Varric folded back the bed covers. It was going to stain and it was going to smell for the rest of time, he'd have to get rid of it all. Not the time to worry about it, he knows, but his head would rather think about buying new sheets than the shape that Red was in. 

It takes him and Broody both considerable effort to pick Red up and get him on the bed. Immediately, Varric pushes a bucket into Redwood's hands and pushes back his hair. It's back in a long braid, like always, but strands are drawn out in a haphazard clumped disaster. It's out of the way just in time, too, right before Red starts retching into the bucket and coughing violently. Varric isn't stupid, he lives in a bar for Andraste's sake, and he knows when a man's had too much. The way Hawke’s eyes won’t focus has him on edge, and he hasn’t heard a coherent word since he got up here.

"When was the last time anyone saw Blondie?" 

"He said he needed to get to his clinic, when we were leaving." Merrill pipes up. "Said he needed more potions- trying to help everyone he could, you know? But I can try and find him, but I don't know if he'll come if he's got so many people to help..."

"He'll come." Fenris says, quietly. And it hangs heavy in the air as Merrill and Varric meet each other's eyes. Carver's confusion isn't lost on him, but as he's said, that's someone else's problem. 

"Right, of course. ...right." Merrill looks down, then back up at Fenris with a worried smile, and then back to Carver. "I'll go get him. Won't be any trouble."

"Got your string?" Varric smiles through the exhaustion. But she gives him a real smile, and the room is a little bit lighter for it. 

"Of course. I'll be back in less than a jiffy, Varric. With Anders." 

"Wouldn't expect any less." 

Red looks up, slow and bleary. "..n'ders?"

"Yeah, Red, Anders is coming. Don't you worry your pretty head."

His head falls back against the headboard, like it's the only thing that can keep it up. It wavers to one side. "s'okay?" He looks around the room with just his eyes, head tilting again when they land on his brother. "Carv…?"

* * *

"Hey-" Carver starts forward when his brother starts tipping again. His hands catch onto clammy skin and he holds him steady. "Hey." He repeats, softer. Like he's soothing a bloody horse. Well, Laiit was about the size of one. Carver sighs and squeezes his arms. 

For some reason, this makes his brother start to cry more. Fuck. "Laiit, it's- it's fine, you're fine." He looks to the rest for some kind of explanation. Varric shrugs, and Fenris stays stony against the wall. Thinking, and observing. Something about it bothers him, but he can’t put a nail on why.

"I- I'm sorr..." Laiit slurs. His sounds run together, and the hiccups are starting up again, so it takes a second for Carver to understand what he's saying. Maker, he's never seen Laiit like this. Even when their father died there had been some stoicism about him, leaving for a few hours after the funeral to go find his outlet somewhere private. Beth had been the worst he'd seen of it. Unable to get his distance in the ship's hull to Kirkwall, Laiit had been forced into crying in the open. But he'd never... _ really _broken down before. Not in front of Carver at any rate. 

"It's..." He's at a loss. He's not even sure what his brother's apologizing for. "It's alright, you're alright..." 

He shakes his head, and then it tilts back with a thunk. They all wince. "'m so sorry, ’m so..." His words trail into mumbles.

Carver's hands slowly let go, now that Laiit is leaning back. He looks back to the rest of them. "...I've never seen him like this before." He’s quiet, hoping Laiit isn’t in a state enough to hear them. _ What’s happened? _

"Oh, well of course." Merrill says, "You haven't been here." 

He grits his teeth, and bites his tongue. 

"Oh-" She gasps, a second too late. "Oh, no, Carver I didn't mean-"

"Maybe you should hurry and go find Blondie." Varric says, not unkindly. “The sooner the better?” She seems grateful for the out, and nods quickly.

"Right, sorry! I'll just, ahm-" She backed up, "I'll be right back, quick as I can. With Anders." She promises, and hurries out the door. 

Carver's eyes fall back to his brother, his eyes shut but tears still falling. His breath seems to be evening out. Maybe some rest would do him good, after all this. 

"Nuh-uh." Varric took the other side of the bed, and shook Laiit's shoulder. "No sleeping on us, not yet, big guy." 

"He looks like he could use it." 

"Not after how much he's had." The dwarf shook his head, grim. "Daisy better hurry up with some healing. Blondie's assistant can take over the clinic for an hour, we need him here." 

The silence stretches, though Laiit mumbles a little bit more. They don't understand, so they don't respond, each lost in thought for a moment. 

"...It's not true, what Meredith said." Carver says, meaning for it to sound like more of a question. 

"Kid, if you can figure out a way for Blondie to have blown up a building from the other side of Kirkwall, I'm all ears."

"Figured." Anders had seemed too shocked, not guilty enough. Meredith had her accusations, but something hadn't lined up. No matter how willing the rest of the Templars were to jump on it. "But then what did?"

"Sterling." The gravelly voice of Fenris finally rises up from the corner.

They turn. He leans against the wall, out of the way. Varric’s face looks grim, but the name doesn’t mean anything to Carver.

"Sterling?"

"You don't know?"

"Clearly not."

Fenris offered no ready explanation, only sighed through his nose and stood up straight. "I'll get him some water." 

Carver looked after him, more lost and a little pissed by everyone talking over his head at this point. Maker, it really was like he was a teenager again. He'd hoped things had changed. He was a bloody Warden after all, he thought that'd have earned a little more consideration here. 

The quiet sits, and Carver simmers. The tension between him and Varric is thick, and when he opens his mouth to demand an explanation, Varric cuts him off. He bristles further at being shut down, but lets him speak. 

"Sterling is bad news. Always been bad news." Varric’s eyes look back to Laiit, but then catch the blanket instead of coming back to Carver. "Friend of your brother's."

"_ Venhedis _ \- his _ friend, _Varric?" Fenris glared across the room, cup in hand. He carries it over, easing it into Laiit's hands with surprising care, considering his temper. "Drink, Hawke. You'll feel better." Carver was uncertain how true that was, but he’d need it after all the vomiting.

Varric chuckled low, something bitter in his tone. "Well, I would hope things are different now." 

"He's his _ partner. _" Fenris said the word like it was something dirty. Laiit, for his part, looked even more miserable, but stayed quiet. "Or he was. I can only presume that blowing up half of Hightown and framing Anders is crossing a line."

"Partner?" _ Partner? _ Laiit had never even hinted at a partner. At this point Carver had decided his brother was disinterested in the entire affair of romance. Even growing up he never seemed interested in dating, or a fling, or an, anything at all, really. He’d never say it, but it hurt a little that Laiit kept him out about this. Not that he was entitled to his brother’s personal life, but he thought they’d been working things out these last couple years. Being open, and all that. Finally airing some grievances and working through it anyway, since they were all they had now. It was messy, and Carver still wasn't great at airing his own feelings, but this shouldn't have been something to hide, right? _Why wouldn’t he mention it?_ Laiit had been all too happy to give pages of updates on everyone else they knew. Maybe because Carver had never met- but no, that didn’t seem right either...

"I'm sure he's failed to mention him in your letters." Fenris said bitterly. "_ Sterling- _"

"Fenris." Varric's voice was quiet. The use of his real name seems enough to startle the words out of him, and Fenris looks back with raised eyebrows. Varric nods his head in their friend's direction.

Fenris couldn't take the absolute misery dripping off of Laiit for very long. He scoffs, but lets it drop. 

"Later." Varric promised. "But it's not exactly a fun story." 

"When is it ever, with him?" Carver sighs, and rests his hand on top of Laiit's leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...it's fiiine, he'll be fine. Don't worry about it.
> 
> So, changes in this universe:  
\- Anders did not merge with Justice himself. He remained friends with him and was definitely inspired by talks with Justice, but ultimately our spirit friend found himself with the willing host of Sterling.  
\- Sterling is a human rogue-type guy, and there will be more of him in later chapters, and other stories I post in this series. Unfortunately for all.  
\- Laiit isn't a traditional Hawke in a lot of ways. He has Malcolm's name, but in actuality has a different biological father. (Details of the Legacy DLC are for another time.) There are a couple other siblings to be touched on later, but oldest to youngest we have Laiit, Carver/Bethany, Innes, Elisya, with Carver and Kam being the only non-mages.  
\- Laiit is technically a mage, but chose to ignore that part of his heritage as much as possible (to Malcolm's dismay). He stands out enough as it is, and didn't want to add one more "problem" to the list.
> 
> I've got more written, just gotta clean it up and get it posted, so stay tuned!


	2. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laiit gets a little help, and a long nap.

They kept urging Laiit to stay awake, finally drawing him into a semblance of conversation, though his responses didn't make much sense. He drank as much water as he could, but in the end it all came up again anyway. Varric came back with a clean rag to finally get some of the mess off his face. The motions seemed to keep him up better than talking, so Varric kept at it. Not that that stopped _him_ from talking. Not much could, Fenris thought. 

Fenris took the moment to step into Varric's bath chamber. It was the fancier sort, with runes along the pipes that would heat up the water when you opened the faucet. It was exactly the type of luxury he'd expect Varric to splurge on, and he'd never been more grateful for it. He steals a hand towel from the shelf and washes off his own grime, layer by layer.

He can see through a small awning window that the sun is going down. _ How can so much go wrong in the span of twelve hours? _He sighs. He hasn't felt this wrung out in years. Mentally and physically. There is little he wants more just now than a hot meal and a warm bed, but there are more important things at hand. Flashes of images from today pull themselves to his mind’s eye, and now in solitude he lets them come. Fenris takes in each one with a careful examination, but lets them ebb as they will. The flames flooded the city in red for moments, and the sound had punched through him as nothing else he’d ever felt. He remembers Orsino's mutated form. It was grotesque, and he feels pity for the corpses so wrongly disfigured beyond their will. When he’d left the Gallows nothing had been cleared. All of the bodies lay where they fell, undignified and likely being looted. 

This city seemed alive in a twisted way. He sometimes felt a dark sentience behind it all. The docks, its mouth, where the unwitting immigrants and unwilling slaves entered. The streets, the belly. Kirkwall ate away at you slowly, like a snake sitting after a large meal. If you weren’t careful, you would lose yourself to it. If not in mind, then in blood. Tevinter had its cruelty, but the darkness in the heart of Kirkwall was raw, vulgar- almost pornagraphic in its extravagance of desecration.

...he shakes off these thoughts. It didn’t do himself any good to think of the horrors they faced as so inevitable. That was a one-way ticket to sinking into the kind of apathy he couldn’t afford. 

For a heart-stopping moment he thought Laiit would be among the dead, the way he'd looked on the floor of Varric’s suite. He was covered in blood, and so still in that moment he could have sworn... But he was alright. The vice that fear had on his heart only softened incrementally. They weren't out of the woods yet, but he hoped Laiit's responsiveness so far meant he'd be alright. In the end.

He wanted to believe the world wouldn't be cruel enough to have them survive all of this, only to have his best friend drink himself to death. 

_ And the catalyst to it all- that piece of shit, Sterling. _ His mind supplies, snarling. He scrubs a little harder under his nails. _ If he's going to ruin his own life, that's well and good, but he doesn't have any right to take Hawke down with him. _The world needed him too dearly. Well, if he was completely honest it was never about what the world needed. Their rag-tag group of “adventurers” needed him, and that was that.

Fenris had never liked Laiit's boyfriend. At first he thought it might be the resemblance to their resident healer. Sterling, too, was the golden-haired, pale skinned, lithe and beautiful type. All smiles and shining eyes- though Sterling wasn't quite so tall. Nor quite so well-intentioned, it turned out. Fenris had hated them both thoroughly, but in a stroke of irony, it was their shared hatred of Sterling that brought Fenris and Anders together, in the end. Joined in mutual loathing of a common enemy. 

Laiit was a gentle soul. That night they met, Fenris first noticed the obvious. The height, the stature, the scars, and the hair, in that order. He kept watching. Laiit was also quiet, and flinched at war-cries, and sat in the back-corners of bars like he could make himself disappear if he just hunched in low enough. He didn't like fighting, didn't laugh and count shots like Varric and Anders could. He also couldn't say no to nearly anyone. It seemed all you had to do to get the help of the Hawkes was to ask, no matter how much Carver and Elisyah and Innes complained. 

And lastly, he has learned that Laiit Hawke could and would find a way to blame himself for nearly anything.

(This all made much more sense after he'd met Leandra.)

So when Sterling had showed up, they were all a little defensive. They'd all gotten into the rhythm of their budding family rather well by this point, so when Sterling had poked his abhorrent blonde head in, none of them were immediately comfortable with the addition. Why throw a potential wrench in the works? But, it was bound to happen sooner or later that one of them got a partner, and they accepted it with only a little grumbling. 

_ Varric was the first to smile and offer a drink. "Just because none of you brought dates doesn't mean we have to treat our new friend here with so much hostility. You'll give him the wrong idea of our little party." _

_ "'None of you?'" Anders echoed back, "And where, pray tell, is your accompaniment for the evening?" _

_ "Don't ask-" Aveline started _

_ "Aw, Blondie, you're going to hurt Bianca's feelings! She's not much of a talker, but that's no reason for you to be so cold." _

Fenris sighed, wringing out the rag until the water was at only light pink, before setting it on the side of the sink. Absently he picked bits of gore out of his hair and set them on top. There'd be time for a full bath later.

Presuming Sterling's explosion hadn't thrown marble through his mansion's roof. 

Voices reached him through the door, it seemed like Merrill and Anders had finally returned. Good, that was good. He's sure Anders was running low on reserves, but that's what they made lyrium potions for. Any other day Fenris might make a jab about overextending himself, but this was not any other day. And after Laiit was healed, there would be more waiting at the clinic. It was a good thing Anders had taken on that assistant or the man really would work himself to death.

Fenris tosses the mess in the trash, and the rag into the hamper. When he gets back to Varric's bedroom, Varric has given up his spot to Anders, who glares openly at their patient. Everyone in the room looks like they could drop any second, but somehow the healer has found it within himself to lecture Laiit on his pseudo-deathbed. 

"- what you were thinking, but clearly things like “critical thinking” and “moderation” were beyond you. Honestly, after everything else today..." He fumes, hands resting on the front and back of Laiit's chest, part holding him up, part healing. The blue glow spreads from one mage to the other, and Laiit seems a bit more aware every passing second. Which, going by his expression, is not what Hawke was hoping for. He seems to notice Fenris, as though for the first time, with a little startle, and then a dark flush of embarrassment as everyone notices. 

"'m fine."

"Damn right you're fine." Anders fusses. "Though in about a minute you're going to be shoulders-deep in that wastebin. Better hope whatever you drank isn't half so bad up as it was going down, because until it's out you're-"

"Cut him a break." Carver steps in, the first willing sacrifice to Anders' wrath. 

"Cut him a-!"

"He gets it." 

Anders seems ready to fight, but just as quickly, that fire seems to die back down. His eyes cast off to the side, seeming to realize his tone. Remembering that at times like this he needs to be a healer first, and can be pissed later. 

Carver nods, watching the shift and crossing his arms uncomfortably. “It’s been a rough day for everyone.”

"Sorry." He apologizes. Beside him, Laiit just shakes his head. There's another few seconds before the glow around his hands flares, and then dies back as he eases Laiit back. "I wasn't kidding about that bucket though, you really-"

Before he can finish, Laiit is heaving into a Varric's wastebasket again, and everyone is looking like they'd really rather be just about anywhere else. 

"Sor-" He cuts himself off with another heave, and Anders rubs his back comfortingly. 

"For everyone's sake, save the apologies for after you're done?" 

Laiit nods miserably, and spends the next several minutes turning inside out.

\-----

Anders sighs and continues comforting his friend. He feels a little embarrassed at how worked up he'd gotten, but, well. Laiit had spent the last few hours missing, as far as Anders had been aware. He’d been expecting the worst, sick to his stomach thinking that their friend was bleeding out somewhere after the fighting, or that a Templar had caught him alone in the chaos. Hearing that apparently he needed healing for_ alcohol poisoning _ hadn't made him particularly sympathetic.

Thankfully, the worst had passed. Now that the danger of the situation was gone, he could see the way the rest of the room was wavering, dead on their feet. Any remaining adrenaline had left them, and they were all ready to drop. Anders surveys the room, thinking on how many looked capable of walking themselves home tonight. His eyes fall on Fenris, and he squints.

"Weren't you still covered in blood when I left you?"

"I washed it off, Anders." He eyes the mage. “Though I understand the concept may be difficult for you to understand.” 

"Ah-ha. Jokes about cleanliness coming from the man who never swears shoes? Don’t you know what people _ do _ in the streets of Kirkwall?" Anders jabs right back, but there’s no venom between it. Frankly, the normalcy of their bickering was what he needed right now. He catches the mix of disgust and humor on Fenris’ face, and smiles internally. "Anyway, volunteers on helping this one into a bath?" He nods back at Laiit. 

"I don't need it..."

_ I've heard. _ He wants to say. "Laiit, you could have-" Anders falters. Since the explosion, everything had happened so fast. With all the death and destruction and true abominations to defeat, he’d barely had time to catch a breath. Now in the quiet, with all of them tired but whole, Anders is feeling a delayed sense of anxiety settle in. His voice softens, and his brow creases with worry. "You could have died, Laiit. You’re injured, and were in shock, and you went and- ...Just, let us help. You can make it up to us later." 

"Later?" 

"Yes, later. As in, sometime in the coming weeks, preferably after we've all had a long, hot bath, and a few days' sleep." 

Laiit is quiet. In Anders' opinion, this often only leads to trouble, as his friend has a tendency to overthink the smallest things. None of that right now, thank you. "Come on. The sooner you're clean, the sooner you can get some rest. You don't want to sleep with all that in your hair, do you? It'll never come back out." 

The man grips the comforter as Anders rises, and his eyes look a little too far off for Anders’ liking. "There's a later?" 

"I don't follow." 

"I-" He seems to struggle to find words to say, and then deflates with a sigh, heavy and tired. "...I'd like to go ahead and take that bath, now." 

"Good thinking." Anders pats him on the shoulder. "Var, no complaints if we borrow a guest room?"

"I don't think we'll be getting much company tonight." Varric stands from his chair, stretching. "I'll get the keys. Anyone else?" 

"Please?" Merrill smiles. "If that's alright, and if nobody else needs it." She tilts her head. "Though I suppose if I sleep here, even if I do take a bath, I'll just have to put the dirty clothes back on again in the morning. I could wash them in the tub after, I'd just have to hang them out to dry from my window- Varric, do you have clothespins here?" 

He chuckles, and it's the first time this evening it sounds unburdened. "How about I just send someone to get you something to wear, Daisy?" 

"That’d be wonderful. Thank you, Varric." She smiles softly. 

"I'll head home after I'm done here. I'm sure Jack is more than swamped at the clinic on his own." He says, though he does appreciate the offer. It's funny how all the times he really needed a night off were always the ones he couldn't afford to rest on...

"I'll take a room, then." Carver says. Varric waves in acknowledgement, and disappears downstairs for the keys for a few minutes. He comes back several in hand, iron keys with leather tags on the ring.

"Can't promise much, but they're clean." He says, passing the keys out. Anders takes Laiit's with a nod. "I closed up for the night, but the kitchen's open if anyone wants it."

Laiit straightens up and looks urgently, "Home- I should send... mess'ge. Orana-"

"I'll take care of it." Fenris says. "Rest." He places a hand on Laiit's shoulder, and Anders looks away to give the illusion of privacy. "We'll return in the morning. Try and sleep, if you can." 

"...Fen-"

"Rest. We'll talk tomorrow." There is quiet, and then he's gone. Somehow Laiit looks even worse. Oof.

"I'm going to go ahead to my room, if that's alright? I can't remember the last time I wanted to wash my hair this badly. Except for the first time we were in the bone pit, you remember? With those spiders and all that rot, I thought it'd never get out." She shivers a little at the memory, like she can still feel the phantom cobwebs. Anders' nose twitches a little in displeasure- now _ he's _ got that creepy-crawly feeling all over him. Eugh. 

Varric nods and steps out of the way. "Number's on the key. I'll knock when I've got a change of clothes." 

"Thanks!" She smiles at the rest of them. "Leave them outside the door if I don't answer, I think it might be a while. I’ll see you tomorrow, Laiit, rest well. Goodnight, Varric, Anders." 

She takes her leave, and Anders looks over to the Hawkes. "S'pose we should give Varric his bed back. Laiit, think you can walk, yet?"

"Mm." 

They helped him up, Laiit holding onto Carver's arms, and then leaning on them both as they walk down the hall. Hawke is grimacing with every step, but doesn’t complain.

"I'll patch you up once you're clean. I can't tell how much of what I'm seeing is you and how much is-" Leftover Templar, he'd planned on saying, but caught himself. "dirt." He finishes, a little too late. 

"Smooth." Carver mutters under his breath. 

"Shut up." 

"Can take care of myself..." Laiit protests once they're inside. 

"Sure you can." Anders says cheerfully. "Under a doctor's careful supervision, with nurse Carver’s assistance." He grins at Carver’s huff of protest. Ah, nearly a decade and he’s still so fun to push. Maybe he’ll stick around a while longer.

\---

While the tub is set to fill and Carver starts up the fire, Anders approaches their invalid, now settled into a chair. "Arms up."

"No, absolutely- I'll undress myself." Laiit sputters, holding his arms in front of himself defensively. "I'm drawing a line." He hates that he can't get any louder than a firm whisper, but speaking feels like gargling razors.

Anders crosses his arms in disbelief. "Laiit, I do this for my patients all the time. It's clinical. You're making it into a much bigger deal than it is." 

"I'll do it myself." Truthfully, he feels worse than he's ever felt. But what was this to all he’d gone through today? He can spare himself the indignity of having someone undress him. Anders was only doing this out of obligation anyway, he didn’t need to make this more uncomfortable for either of them than it already was.

Defiantly he reaches up his lead-heavy arms and fumbles with the laces on the front of his shirt. He can do it, _ he can _, and it'd already be over with if they weren't so small and slippery. The knots seem like they've strained and tightened, maybe they’re stuck with blood? And he can't seem to...

Anders' hands move his own aside and undo the knots for him in a few swift movements. "Just helping." He smiles back at Laiit's glare. True to his word, Anders backs up once they're undone. With great effort Laiit manages to wrangle the shirt up and over his head, and off his arms. It feels like a great success, until he remembers that he also has pants, and boots, and socks, and...

Fuck.

\------

The evening passes in a blur. Things were hazy anyway, but anything after he got into the warm bath might as well have been a dream. There were vague recollections of Carver leaving, Varric knocking on the door, and Anders getting him dressed and forcing him to drink too much water. Laiit remembers the healer’s cold hands on his skin, and the tingling warmth of his magic helping along the worst of his pains. After that, it was over. Laiit hadn’t slept so deeply since after the fight with the Arishok. Anders had patched him up then, too. He was too kind to him, helping keep him in one piece even though most of his troubles were his own fault.

There’s a brief awakening to someone else’s voice, but he doesn’t remember…

He finally, truly awakes in the morning with the worst headache of his life, and his stomach trying to actually knot itself. Sleep was supposed to make you feel better, wasn't it? He felt just as beaten down as yesterday. His eyes shut tighter and he groans, turning his face into the pillow. 

A soft murmur responds, and he slowly takes in the feeling of someone laying on his arm, pressed against his side. What...?

Bleary eyes open to a dimly lit room, and dark black hair. There is weight on his arm and against his chest and legs, and someone soft yet pointy snuggles closer. It takes him a moment to realize it’s Merrill curled around him, with her arm and legs strewn over his own. In their sleep she's captured one of his legs with hers, clinging for dear life, and the arm not close to her own chest is hanging over his own, like half of a hug. 

He shouldn't be surprised, Merrill was a cuddler. 

Almost without thinking he settles his hand to rest on her back, holding her in return. It wasn't the first time they'd laid like this, and for a brief moment he feels warm and happy. She was cute when she slept, and he felt the same warmth he'd felt when his little siblings used to curl up with him. It wouldn’t be hard to get back to sleep like this.

_ At least you still want to be around me. If anyone, I should have counted on you. _ He sighs. Merrill saw the good in everyone, he should have expected her to find some way to justify it all in her head. He can barely remember last night.

He knows after... after Everything, he'd ended up at The Hanged Man, drinking alone and crying. His face flushes as he remembers being found, though the details are lost on him. After all that he'd done, Laiit had dragged his disgusting self into Varric's personal space to binge-drink, and then forced his friends to pick up the pieces. Maker, his mother had been right, he really only made things worse for people. 

The door opens slowly, and he's tempted to pretend to sleep. Fenris rounds it before he can commit either way. He's carrying one of the serving trays from downstairs, a few bowls and cups balanced on top. He nods silently, and sets it up on the bedside table. 

"Good morning." 

"Morning." Laiit whispers back. His throat still feels wrecked, and impossibly dry on top of it. He's glad Merrill is sleeping, he thinks too much noise would do him in just now. 

"I brought lunch- though breakfast for you, I hear. You can sleep more after you've had something to eat." 

He is... confused. Perhaps it's a sense of obligation. Fenris must feel obligated to take care of him because of the help with Danerius. That was what this was, the man must feel indebted. "You don't have to do this, Fenris."

It only gets him a derisive scoff. 

"Really." He presses, because it's important to know. Fenris has to know, Laiit would _ never _ want to force him into anything. "You don't have to, you can go." 

"Eat, Hawke." 

He takes the bowl offered to him and eats one-handed. There is quiet as he and Fenris eat together, Merrill's own waiting for her to the side. He looks back down at her every time she stirs, Laiit going still and hoping he hasn't woken her up. 

"She's been up here for hours." Fenris says. 

He hums. 

"She was worried. We all were." 

"You don't have to be."

"We clearly do.” He looks too closely at Laiit’s expression, confused almost. “We searched half of Kirkwall yesterday, it was like you'd disappeared." 

"I... I don't know." He says, mostly truthful. It was all so hazy, the order of events wrapped in some fog. "...I think I was in shock? Really." When Fenris doesn't answer, he tries to explain. "I started walking. Ended up here, and I..."_ I hurt so much, Fenris. I still hurt. _ He wants to say. _ I thought you would all leave, and I thought I'd rather die _. Though that hadn't been his intent. He'd only ever meant to try and drown out his pain with drink. Apparently it was more effective than anticipated. 

Fenris is quiet before finally setting aside his empty bowl. One leg crosses over the other and he leans back. His eyes are so piercing, Laiit feels like they go right through him... "I think I understand. You were overwhelmed. Exhausted. We all were. And you were close with Orsino. ...And with Sterling." Laiit ducks his head at the tension radiating in just the name. It hadbeen a point of contention between them for years now, and Laiit didn’t have it in him to try and defend his partner today. If they were still together? 

Fenris stops, and sighs. His voice has softened again. "It's more common than you would think. The night Danerius left me I wandered much the same. Anders tells me there's a word for it. The... state, that we’ve gone into." Another pause. "You should talk to him." 

"I don't know that he'd want to see me." There is quiet, and he spares a glance to see the confusion on Fenris’ face. "After everything that happened. I don’t think he’d want to see me." A wave of sorrow pulls his heart through the floor. "I should go. I don't want to make things worse." 

"It wasn't you."

_ As though it was so simple. _"It was, Fenris, you don't understand." 

"Then _ make _ me understand."

How it wasn't plain as day was anyone's guess. Oh, but Fenris must not know yet. And now Laiit must tell him. Andraste have undeserved mercy on him. 

"Last week Sterling had me help him at the Chantry. Well, before that he had me bring him a few things." He falters. The last thing he wants is Fenris putting Laiit's share of the blame on Sterling's shoulders, but he was too exhausted to weave his way around it. Besides, Fenris deserved his honesty. "Just a couple errands, he said. He told me he needed drakestone, from the Bone Pit, and sela petrae, from... well."

"I'm familiar."

"Right." Sterling had told him that they were common ingredients in Tevinter, and Justice needed them for something. He’d been secretive about what they’d be used for, but after mentioning that Anders might have some use for the excess, Laiit had caved. It seemed appreciated, though the healer seemed at a loss for what to do with the drakestone, and even more confused by the unrefined sela petrae. He'd been thankful all the same, and Laiit (ironically) got to feel good about himself for a little while. "Last week was when he asked me to meet him at the Chantry. He wanted me to talk to Elthinia. Alone. To distract her, I suppose." He fidgets. "It didn't sit right with me. I told him something felt off, but he told me... it doesn't matter what he told me." 

_ "Laiit," Sterling had purred, leaning in and stroking the scarred cheek of his lover. His hands were warm, and Laiit had held the hand in his own and pressed a kiss to Sterling’s palm. That always made him smile. "You worry too much. Don't you trust me? I wouldn't ever put you in danger, darling. I know how nervous you are, I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't important. Five minutes, that's all I need." _

"I did it anyway. I didn't ask questions, Fenris, I didn't say no. I knew something was wrong and I distracted her for him- he must have placed some kind of explosive then. If I hadn't-"

"But that wasn't your fault!" Merrill's hand grips into his shirt, and her large green eyes are heartbroken.

"Merrill!" He starts, wincing as it pulls at injuries. "H- how long have you been awake?!"

"Just since the part where Fenris was saying you should talk to Anders, and you should!" She sits up with him, and faces him with tears in her eyes. "The two of you are just the same, always blaming yourself for everything under the moon. None of this was your fault." She jabs him in the chest with a finger.

"But Sterling-"

"Sterling _ used _you!" She says, and anger bubbles up from under the hurt. "He's never treated you right, lethallin, everyone knows it. This was just the last straw." 

His face burns, and he knows they both see the humiliation across his face. She lowers her hands and takes his gently in her own. 

"Please, listen when we tell you that it wasn't your fault. We're your friends. We know you." She looks to Fenris, who nods silently. "And if you don't believe it when we say it, I'll bring in everyone else."

"Merrill..." He feels lost. There is nothing he has done to earn the loyalty of his friends. He knows this. And it hurts that she offers her love so willingly, and in the back of his mind he worries that he’s manipulating all of them. Fenris' head bows a little, green eyes meeting green, like he knows somehow what Laiit’s thinking. They hold, and then Fenris stands and puts his hand on Merrill’s shoulder. 

"May we have a moment?" He asks. She looks mildly affronted, but gives in.

"Oh, alright." She squeezes Laiit’s hands and smiles through the worry. "We love you, lethallin. And we're all a shout away if you need anything." He squeezes her hand back, and lets her go. Fenris waits until they're alone before crossing his arms and looking at Hawke. 

"She’s too kind.”

“She’s exactly right.” Fenris says. “Give her more credit. She knows what she’s saying.” Laiit is silent. Fenris settles next to him on the bed, and Laiit pulls himself into sitting up. Everything hurts, and he can feel where bandages brush underneath his clothes. Anders really had taken care of everything.

“Laiit.” 

He looks up. Miserable. And waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“We both know that it will not be as easy as she hopes for you to recover." He says. His voice is soft, and holds more understanding than Laiit deserves. "You have been betrayed terribly by someone you loved. And you think we are unfair in our judgement, one way or another."

"I wish I could explain myself better. I'm no good with words. You know that."

"It is through no lack of understanding that we are by your side, Hawke." He holds a hand up to stop him, before Laiit can respond. "Please, let me finish. ...These next few weeks are going to be hard on you. Too much has happened in a very short span of time, and you will have to come to terms with much of it on your own. I don't expect you to believe any of us when we tell you you're not to blame. Not for some time. But we will be here at your side, with full knowledge of the events, and _ autonomy _." He stresses, and stares his friend down. "It is not your responsibility or your right to weigh your tresspasses for us."

The mind was a strange thing. Laiit was so afraid of conflict, but somehow Fenris' demands are a balm on his heart. The hard truths somehow sound comforting from him, and a familiar pang strikes his chest. Fenris was also better than Laiit deserved. How he had lived the life he had and come out so kind, Laiit would never understand. A warm hand lays over his own.

“Whatever you need from me, you only need ask.”

He feels so, so aware of everything. The weight of his friend beside him, the warmth of his hand, the feel of calluses over his own. So slowly, his hand unfurls and takes Fenris’ in return. His voice is a whisper and thick with relief.

“_ Thank you. _” 

Fenris doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad boy is a little less sad. For now.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	3. Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up pretty Carver centric, but I think you guys deserved an explanation for his change of behavior. And change of heart. It's a nice shiny new one that can do things like Talk About Things and maybe even tell his brother he loves him sometimes. 
> 
> As always, if you see spelling errors or typos, feel free to correct me in the comments!

The evening of that great battle, as Laiit was settled into bed by Anders, Carver still had questions that needed answering. He’d helped his oldest (now only) brother in and back out of the bath, and could now finally take care of his own needs. His warden armor was caked with unplesantries, and it’d take hard scrubbing to get it all out from between the griffon’s claws and teeth. He’d gotten into the habit of clearing his armor before settling in for the evening- just better to keep it ready for whatever emergency might come- but tonight he’s making a straight line for bath, food, and bed.

The hot water does wonders on his aching everything. His eyes close and Carver tilts his head back, just letting himself soak for a while. But as his body relaxes, his mind wanders. Today had been a hellstorm, no way for him to take in everything he was seeing _ as _he was seeing. And whether he liked it or not, he was about to start sorting through it all. If only he could just shut his mind off until morning. 

It had been years since he’d seen his brother in the flesh, and the difference in him was a shock. They’d never spent more than a few days apart, until the deep roads, and very suddenly Carver was without any family at all by his side. It was exhilarating… and then unsettling. He’d spent the better part of his childhood railing against his oldest brother’s authority and his younger siblings’ preferential treatment, but without them suddenly he felt lost. It was true what they said, absence making the heart grow fonder and all... 

The longer he’d gone without a word- too proud to write just yet- the more he’d missed even the most annoying habits of his family. Not the part where scheduling baths was a nightmare, but the parts where his sister kept a candle going all night to read, and his mother couldn’t cook without company and made him sit while she told him about her day. He even missed Laiit’s over-organization- the wordless arguments about where you kept blankets and what shelf extra candles belonged on.

Eventually he’d given in and sent a brief, informative letter home telling his family where to reach him and that he was well. He hadn’t expected that they’d _ all _write back. Elisya’s was friendly as ever, always the most talkative of them all, ‘cept maybe Bethy. She’d send back three pages about all that’d happened since he left. Kam and Innes had kept it contained and modest, hoping he was well, but both trying to play it cool about wanting to hear about life in the Wardens. His mother had been relieved to hear from him, then given him a lecture about not writing sooner, and finally reminding him that he was representing their family name and to not make a mockery of it out there. The usual. Laiit’s was… surprisingly well written. It’s not like he’d ever traded letters with his brother before, but Carver had expected it to be as tight-lipped and awkward as his speaking voice. 

_ Carver, _

_ I’m grateful to hear that you’re doing well out there. I hope you’re finding the company pleasant, and keeping relatively safe, though I understand that’s not really in your job description anymore? But do what you can. For Mother, if nothing else. _

_ Everyone misses you terribly. I wish we’d been able to reach out to you before now, Mother’s been worried sick that something terrible had happened on your way out of the Deep Roads. _

_ More than what’s already happened, anyway. _

_ Listen, I know you probably don’t care to talk to me, and I don’t blame you. I shouldn’t have made you come with me to the Deep Roads. I knew how dangerous the expedition would be. I want you to know how sorry I am. I can’t change things, but if there is anything I can do to make your life easier, please write me. I’m also sending you some of the money from the expedition. There’s more to come, but I don’t think it’s wise sending it all at once. All the same, there’s 40 gold pieces in the package I’m sending with our letters. Please count them to make sure they made it. _

_ Missing you dearly, _

_ Laiit _

Well. He’d hardly known what to do after that letter had come in. Several weeks had passed since he’d joined, and he still hadn't made heads and tails of his feelings on the matter. He had the mixed sense that this was the best thing that ever could have happened to him, but still nursed a loathing towards Laiit for putting him here. Sure, he’d gone more-or-less willingly, but _ Carver _ was the one who’d caught the blight, and _ he _was the one who had to leave everything behind- and now his family was sitting pretty on top of a small fortune in their old family manor. Like every other time in his life, he'd drawn the short straw and suffered the consequences. 

He’d pocketed the gold (that he felt no thanks for, as he’d fucking _ earned it, _ damn right he’d be getting more to come), but had purposefully written back all but Laiit. _ Let him stew on it a while longer. _ He thought. _ It’s his bloody fault I’m here anyway. _

But a strange thing happened. He found that he fit in well with the Grey Wardens. His fighting skill and experience was appreciated whenever he took the front. People valued his talents and assigned him accordingly, knowing that having him on their side was a strength. No longer was he the oft-forgotten idiot child in a house of mages, but instead grew into his role as a member of something greater. He found that this new self could be someone that others looked up to. He couldn’t see it in himself yet, but the Carver Hawke of only a few months in was a completely different animal than the boy they’d dragged up from the Deep Roads. He stood taller, smiled more often, and carried an easy confidence without having to posture. He’d never been better. 

And coin came with letters from his siblings. Not always letters from all of them, but without fail there were always letters from his mother, always from Elisya, and usually from Innes. Kam was moody lately, they said. It was like having a little Carver strutting around the house again.

Huh. Go figure. 

It wasn’t until winter- over half a year later- that he heard from Laiit again. A small letter waiting for him inside one of the many packages he’d gotten that morning.

_ Happy Satinalia, Carver. I found these sitting in storage and thought you might like them back. I hope you’re well. _

_ _Laiit_ _

Underneath the letter, he’d found a few of his old things from living in Lowtown. It's not like he'd had the chance to pack when he left with the Wardens. _Figures it'd take them months to bother returning my stuff. _He'd scoffed. It didn't amount to much all together. A few books, a couple small souvenirs he’d picked up working for Athenril, and… The air leaves him for a moment. He is so, so gentle, picking up the red bandana, that it would seem made of spider-silk. It was Beth’s. He’d kept it at his bedside at home, but hadn’t wanted to risk losing it in the deep roads, so it’d been left behind… Carver runs his thumb over the well-worn fabric. He thought of Beth every day, this was nothing new, but having something so familiar, something that had been hers... He hadn't realized how much it helped. The hurt of her absence still sits with him, but it's a little easier to carry. 

...He’d been a real dick, hadn’t he? 

He looks back to the letter, that awful sinking feeling in his chest. _ I’ve been a complete arse. _ Carver wraps the bandana around his wrist, and lays back on his bed. He’d been holding on to bitterness for so many years that it was hard to define his feelings towards Laiit with anything else. He was bitter to be bitter, now. If he was frank, his mother hadn’t really helped. She always had some new complaint about her oldest son. And Carver often fell in that same pattern. After all, Laiit was the oldest. The bastard son, odd one out, and disciplinary “man of the house” once Malcolm had died. As though Laiit had any right to try and take over their household, like he wasn’t a kid like the rest of them. 

_But someone had to._ A voice presses at the back of his mind. _After Dad died Mother sort’ve… gave up, for a while. Someone had to step in._ And at the time, the four years between them had seemed a world of difference. Carver had been fifteen, and Laiit nineteen- and looking back, Carver doesn’t want to even think about having to try and look after the six of them and keep work at nineteen. He may have been a little harsh, made things a little harder for his older brother back then, but he was an angry fifteen year old who’d just lost his father. He can’t help but wince, however, remembering being an angry eighteen year old who’d just lost his sister. Maybe he hadn’t been fair then either- no, fuck it, he knows he hadn’t been fair. But he’d lost his best friend, his _twin,_ and Leandra seemed in agreement on who was to blame. 

_-Missing you dearly-_

And then Carver had almost died in his arms. 

_-I hope you’re well._

He should write.

  
  


And he does, and Carver can practically feel the nervous hesitation hanging onto his older brother’s letter. Neither of them talk about why he hasn’t written before now, and Carver feels a little guilty about it. Laiit wants to know if he’ll ever get a chance to visit again, even just for a short time, but travelling with the Grey Wardens is nothing if not unpredictable. So they keep writing, and Carver keeps promising he’ll visit soon as he can. For the first time since they were kids he actually gets along with Laiit. Maybe it's time, or the trauma, or just that it's in written word. But now that they’re talking to each other like people again, Carver actually finds himself learning things about Laiit he hadn’t known before. Funny how much you miss when you’re avoiding someone whenever possible…

He feels like a twat for ignoring him this long, but they make up for lost time with long letters. 

And then he gets word about Kam.

And he wants to be home, _ needs _ to be home, but he’s scared of going back and seeing their new house devoid of their babiest brother. And he talks himself out of it, feeling like a coward. _ It won’t change anything. Kam will still be gone, whether I’m there or not. At least here I’m doing good. _ And Laiit doesn’t push it. He grieves with all of them through parchment.

Leandra tells him that his older brother should have done more. Two of her children dead, one of them gone, and all of it because of the bastard son. 

Carver doesn’t know what to say. It is too familiar, and he is too afraid.

Innes gets sick, and he is still too afraid. Leandra is a grieving mother, and is irrational, and in her letters she tells him that Laiit should have been the one who got sick, who drowned, who was killed by the ogre. And he’s heard the last two before, but for the first time he feels cold. It all hurts too much, and he knows he should be home to make sure Laiit doesn’t believe her. He needs to see Elisya and hug her and know she’s safe. But he _ can’t, _and he can’t sleep for weeks.

And then Laiit writes him about their mother. Leandra doesn’t need to tell Carver that it’s Laiit’s fault, because Laiit does that for her. 

Carver doesn’t go home.

\-----------

Absently he’s washed the grime from himself and dries in front of the tub. There’s an unexpected knock. 

“What?”

“Clothes delivery.” A chipper voice calls. 

“Wh- Merrill?” He walks over to the door, but doesn’t open it. “I didn’t send for clothes.” 

“I know! But Fenris or Orana or someone must’ve sent them, because there are clothes here and the messenger said to give them to you.” He sees the shadow under the door expand with a soft _ paff _ of clothes on the floor. “I’ll leave them right here. Varric and I are downstairs, if you want to come.”

“...sure. Thanks, Merrill.”

“Mhm.” 

He waits until her footsteps are on the staircase before grabbing the clothes outside the door. They definitely aren’t anything he recognizes, but when he holds the shirt in front of himself, it's clear that they’re lent from his brother’s wardrobe. Fortunately, they’re both big people. Unfortunately, the shirt still comes down to his knees. It probably would have stopped mid-thigh on Laiit, but Carver is left feeling like he's playing dress-up. _ Clean clothes are clean clothes. _ He sighs, and adjusts the belt so the trousers don’t fall off. 

The quiet doesn’t suit The Hanged Man, and it’s a little eerie to see it so abandoned as he comes downstairs. The tables are all empty, but he can see the door to the kitchen is propped open, and hear his brother’s friends inside. He runs his hand through his hair one last time, flicking off the water, and turns it to a wave as Merrill notices him.

“Evening, Carver.” She smiles. They all look tired, but much better for washing up. “We made tea, how do you like yours?” 

“Oh, uh, just sugar is fine.” 

Varric steps aside from the counter where he’s made his own, and sits on top of a crate. His eyes scan Carver head to toe. “Isn’t that outfit one of Red’s?”

“Mm.” 

“Fenris must have sent it, he was stopping by Laiit's house to tell everyone what’s happening.”

“Nice of him.” 

Merrill hands him a cup of tea, and she and Varric lead the way back to the main room. He hadn’t noticed the plates set out at the longest table. Nothing fancy this late and this short notice, but none of them needed fancy. Varric and Merrill sit on one side, and he takes the other. There’s three plates, so he helps himself without asking. There’s nothing except the clink of silverware against platter for a while, before Varric finally moves his own out of the way and settles his arms against the table. His (strangely ungloved) hands run through his hair, and Carver realizes it’s the first time he’s seen the man so casual. Hair down, gloves off, no Bianca at his side. 

“What a day.” Varric sighs. “What a fucking day.” 

“I keep trying to think of something to say, but…” Merrill trails off, frowning. She pushes the rice around into little piles with her spoon before fanning it out, and starting over again. “It was horrible. I don’t know what to do.” 

“Nothing we can do, yet.”

“Everything is going to change.” She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “So many people have died… there’s not going to be anything left of the circle.” 

“Any other day, I’d say that’s a good thing.” 

“Not like _ this. _”

“I know, I know…” He sighs. “It’s going to be a rough time while this gets sorted back out. You know, Daisy, maybe you should stick around here for a little while? Tensions being what they’re gonna be, it might be better for you to be nearby” 

“I’ll think about it. I don’t want to leave my home if I don’t have to.”

“Keep it in mind. Just for a few days, at least, then we can get you settled in back home once the riots have settled.”

“I’ll think about it.” 

Carver silently picks at his plate. He wonders what this means for the mages he knows, and if the Templars would come after Laiit. Were tensions so high now that they didn’t care about public outrage? Or, what was going on with this “Sterling” they’d mentioned earlier? Apparently he’d been the one to set off the whole thing. He nudges his dish out of the way and folds his arms over the table. 

“So.” They turn to look at him, and he clears his throat, a little awkward with their attention. “So, it’s later.” 

Varric sighs, all the tension drawing right back into his body. “I don’t know, Junio-” He catches the look in Carver’s eyes, and cuts off, raising his hands in acknowledgement and surrender. “I don’t know if I’m the best one to be telling you about this.”

Carver shifts his gaze to Merrill, who is wringing her hands. 

“Well, someone needs to, but I don’t think… I mean, I love Laiit and I know a _ bit _, but I don’t know if- I mean, Varric, you’ve been here the longest.” 

“Throwing me to the wolves that easily?” His voice is tired, and a little bitter.

“Well, you have been!”

“_Somebody _ needs to tell me what the hell is going on with my brother.” Carver cuts in. The two share nervous, almost guilty glances before Merrill stands up. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m- I’m going to go get more tea.” 

Varric doesn’t stop her, but looks all the more miserable on his own. In the dim torchlight the shadows are heavy across the man’s face, and if this weren’t about Laiit, Carver might have called this off until morning. But he holds silent, waiting. And Varric takes his time. He wonders if he deserves a prize for finding the one story that Tethras doesn’t want to tell.

“...he showed up a few years ago. Before your mother died. He didn’t really seem like much, just one more stray for your brother to drag home. Red brought him here one night for drinks and diamondback. No one’d heard anything about the guy. Just another immigrant from Fereldan who was settling into Kirkwall and might could use a friend.” He brushes his hand across the table’s surface. “Nothing interesting about the guy. He was pretty, had those big blue eyes and smile that pulls you in. Didn’t stick out the same way we do. I didn’t think he’d last very long, to tell you the truth. It takes a special kind of person to stick with us for more than a night or two.

“But he kept coming around. Not every night, but once a week he was at our table. Real friendly, always tipped well and didn’t get into bar fights- so he had a leg up on most people who come here already. Hell, I even _ liked _ having him around. It felt like he added a little bit of sanity to the party, helped keep everyone reigned in.” 

He sounded disgusted, perhaps with himself for thinking so well of Sterling. The look on his face certainly seemed to aim inward. Varric took a long pull from his tankard. _ Probably not tea, then. _ He keeps it in his hands back on the table, thumb tapping pensively. Like water from a faucet. 

“What changed?”

“He took a liking to your brother. And Red took a liking to Sterling. Everyone could see it- Red doesn’t hide it very well. He’s not used to that kind of attention.”

_ No. He isn’t. _ Maybe when they were younger Laiit knew how to handle it; Carver knows that there were more than a few people who thought his brother was handsome back in Lothering. Back then he had fewer scars, and people thought them _ rugged _ or that they gave him _ character. _ As they built up a collection, the tone of those whispers changed. Hypocrites. One or two was appealing, but too many and everyone flinched. Carver sighs and rubs at the base of his neck. _ No_, Laiit was not used to people flirting with him.

“Go on.” 

“...I think we were all a little wary. Red was a lost cause from the start, head over fucking heels, and before we knew it they were arm in arm. I think Broody must’ve seen something we didn’t. After they hooked up, he never let up. Always cold, always ready to jump down Sterling’s throat for one thing or another. Your brother hated it, said he felt torn between his partner and one of his best friends. So sometimes he’d leave a little early. Then he’d skip game nights every so often, and before you knew it, it was pulling teeth just to get the big guy to have a few drinks after work. Sterling didn’t like him hanging around the bar, apparently.

“But we still saw him for work, so we figured it couldn’t be so bad. I started bringing the game to his house instead, and that worked out fine for a while. Seemed like things were getting back to normal. But… I came over early one night. Salamander- _ Sandal- _let me in, but he was upset about something. Bodahn was out, I thought the kid was just worried about him, but he pulled me over to the staircase. I don’t know how I didn’t catch it outside. Sterling was about to bring the house down with his voice alone- I don’t think Sal really knew what to do. Sterling was going on about how Red knew that Sterling didn’t like having us over, started blaming him for everything from the weather to the invasion of the Black City. I don’t think Red said a word. Not that I could hear. 

“I didn’t know what to do either. But I told Sal to go wait in the kitchen, and went back and pounded on the front door like I’d just arrived. Things seemed to die off real quickly after that, and Red came down the stairs like nothing’d happened. I mean, it was downright unsettling, enough to make me wonder if I imagined the whole thing.”

Carver hadn’t ever met Sterling, but he could almost see Laiit, now. Mother had been just as harsh, and Laiit had bowed under just the same. Guilt creeps up on him. It’s like a physical thing, like the hairs on his neck are standing up. More and more when he remembers those times, he feels the weight of shame pressing down on him. He’d never really tried to stop it, had he? He’d just listened to all of it, let their little siblings listen to all that rot, and sometimes just _ had _ to throw in his own two copper after. Laiit wasn’t really one to fight back. His status as the oldest and as the only half-sibling made it all too easy for him to become the proverbial whipping boy, and he _ hated _ confrontation like sin. So to avoid it, he kept quiet and moved on. Maker, they were all assholes. 

_ No, not all. Just me and Mother, really. _

Varric gives him a moment, and presses on when Carver meets his eye and nods. “I watched a little more closely after that. It might’ve been a one-time thing, but better to be safe than sorry, right? So I kept an eye out. Wasn’t easy, it’s not like Sterling was looking to spend time with us those days, so I was mostly watching Red. You know how you see enough of someone every day, you stop noticing the little things? All the little tics and details just fade to the background, it’s like you’re looking at the outline instead of the whole person. But I started noticing the details again. Maybe that’s what was up with Broody, maybe he never stopped looking- because Red was a lot worse off than I remembered him being. Real jumpy, wouldn’t really joke like he used to. He was a nervous guy when we met, sure, but he seemed to relax a little after the Deep Roads. Nothing like a near-death experience to bring people together, right?”

Carver scoffed. 

“Exactly. But it was like he was back to square one. Worse than square one. I tried talking to him about it, but he brushed the whole thing off, said he just wasn’t sleeping well. Bullshit. Then he said he just missed his family. I pushed it and he pushed me off. Tried to ignore the whole thing until I told him what’d happened with me and Salamander. ...I’m just glad we were in my suite when I told him. Poor guy had a breakdown then and there.” 

Light footsteps approach behind Carver, and Merrill hesitantly settles back into her seat. Her eyes look a little red but neither of them mention it. 

“...I’m sorry, I think I just needed a few minutes.” She apologizes.

“It’s alright, no harm done.” Varric looks her over. “Are you sure you want to be here for this? No one’s going to hold it against you if you want to head up to your room.” But she shakes her head firmly. 

“No. I’m not a child, I don’t need to be coddled like one.”

“I never said you were, Daisy. But I don’t think self-flagellation is going to help out anyone here.” 

She shakes her head, and he drops it. Carver can see that he’s a little relieved. He opens his mouth to push on with the story, but Merrill steps in. 

“We tried to look out for him, I swear it, Carver.” She sounds so hopeless in that moment that Carver’s own chest aches. “After what happened with my Clan- oh, you probably don’t know much about that.” She bites her lip, heavier with the task of recounting another tragedy. Her mouth is going to start bleeding at this rate, it’s already stripped red.

“No, no, I-” Carver clears his throat. “I know what happened. Not the details, but… He wrote me about it. I’m sorry.” 

She closes her eyes, something still pained in her face before pushing it down. She nods at his condolences, and steadies herself before looking back at the table. Hands in her lap, tight fists. 

“After… that. My friends here are the only family I have left. Laiit is like a brother to me, I’d never _ ever _ want to see him hurt. If there was anything we could have done… I don’t think there was. We tried talking to him, you know? But it was like something in him would close up sometimes. Like walls around him, and he would get so defensive, like it was _ us _ he was afraid of.” 

And Carver hated how well he knew what she was talking about. He’d seen it plenty growing up. His brother would steel up, like he was trying to keep just about everything else from getting in. Trouble was, nothing would come out either. He’d be silent as a chantry mouse until he could finally run off to be alone. Usually in the woods, near Lothering (witches be damned) or to the coast north of Kirkwall proper. 

Merrill doesn’t notice or doesn’t care to leave him lost in his head. “I think part of the problem was that we all saw different things. We all thought it was just us seeing things, I think. But then when we started talking, it was like watching a dam break- _everyone_ had a story. Varric had all the stuff he’d noticed, and so did I, and Aveline, and Donnic, and Fenris- Fenris was _so angry…_” She glances at Varric, who’s staring into space like he’s seeing it all again in his own mind. His mouth a grim, tight line. Carver sees the age in him, and he realizes how worn the two of them look. Merrill takes in Varric’s expression and looks off herself, like she can see the same scene. Both look pained. “...Anders said he’d healed him, before. And that Laiit was lying when he said why. We… I...

“...I think Fenris really might have killed him, if we didn’t stop him.” Her whispered voice echoed in the empty tavern. So quiet, but so big, so immense, and the three of them were being crushed. 

Carver wanted to feel that anger that Fenris had. He willed himself to rise from the table in a rush, grab his sword and run out the door without a care for anything behind him, mind set in a righteous fury to take out an evil in this world. What he actually felt… was empty. This day had taken more from him than he could get back with Sterling’s death. Granted, that might be a good place to start but… not now. Not yet. He feels a recognition in the back of his mind that a younger Carver would have sought immediate justice for the hurt in his family. But now, older and maybe just a little wiser, he knows that the world will be there tomorrow, and Laiit needs him here more than Sterling needs to not have his head anymore. 

Still. He’d feel better if the notion of revenge were a little more immediately tempting. 

He sighs, and whatever’s been holding him up this long escapes. His body is empty and his mind is full, and he needs rest. He looks up and Laiit’s friends are watching him. 

He watches them back.

They glance at each other, and then at him.

“I’m too tired to go kill him.” 

Varric scoffs. “Right.”

“I want to know more.” Carver sighs again. “But not tonight. Maybe not even this week, I don’t know. I… I need to think.” They both nod. 

“You should talk to Fenris and Anders.” Merrill says. 

“You should talk to _ Laiit. _”

Carver winces. Alright, it might not have been the best idea to talk around Laiit first, but it wasn’t like he was up to the discussion right now. ...But it also wasn’t like Carver couldn’t have waited. “Point.” 

“I’m going to go to bed.” Merrill stands up, and takes her cup with her. “I hope you both have, well. Are ‘sweet dreams’ a stretch?”

“Maybe tonight, Daisy.” 

“Well. I hope you have them anyway.” She pushes a tired smile in goodbye, and takes the stairs. 

It’s quiet between them. Cups rising and falling. The creak of old wood as they shift. Shuffling feet. Finally, Varric stands. 

“Drinks’re on the house. You know where they are.” And takes his leave. 

Carver wonders what the Warden protocol is for vacation leave regarding traumatized family.


End file.
